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LAST TRAIN TO BONE TOWN - CHAPTER 2: BONE VOYAGE

I awoke to
the aroma of freshly-ground coffee. I could tell it was expensive
coffee due to the way it smelled: Expensive. It made sense, of course.
Only the finest coffees would be permitted in the mansion of
infamously-handsome sex playboy Rick Mexico. I let out a sigh and began
to reminisce about the countless acts of debauchery the two of is had
engaged in the night before, but a sudden knock at the door jarred me
from my reverie. The door swung open, and a small wrinkled Cuban
hobbled in, clutching a tray of erotic breakfasting materials.

"Hot dog!
Eats!" I cried, greedily rubbing my hands together before seizing
several handfuls of what I took to be vagina-shaped pastries. As what
shoved these into my mouth, Rick strode through the door.

"Good
morning beautiful" he grinned, his teeth flashing like some diamonds
someone was shining an LED flashlight onto, "I see you're enjoying
Koko's novelty baked goods."

"They're
simply divine!" I said, gingerly wiping my mouth on the
seventeen-thousand dollar chinchillaskin comforter, "Is this Koko?" I
asked, gesturing to the Cuban, "I'd like to compliment him on the
meal."

Rick shook
his head. "No. I'm almost positive this one is called Gomez. Koko isn't
even allowed out of the pantry on weekdays. And complimenting her
wouldn't do much good in any case; she's a deaf mute, you see."

"How
dreadful!" I cried.

"Oh, it's
not so bad," Rick purred, dropping to his hands and knees and crawling
seductively towards the bed, "She can still make love, after all. You
know...like we did last night?"

Heavens to
Betsy! Even the mere mention of our sexy lovenight
was too much for my pastry-addled brain to handle. The room began to
spin. I felt myself falling, and everything went dark...

*
* *

Upon
awakening, I found myself cradled in Rick's arms. We appeared to be
climbing a long, winding flight of stairs.

"I was
worried we'd lost you there," Rick smirked (but in a hot way), "The
moment I mentioned the fact that we made passionate animal love last
night, you went unconscious and rolled off the bed. You hit
the ground pretty hard. If that crate full of antique pictures of naked
children hadn't broken your fall, I'd hate to imagine what would've
happened. And before you ask, those photos aren't mine. That's the
guest bedroom so I never even go in there."

I didn't
say a word. I was too in awe of him to speak. That bristly granite
chin...those bristly granite eyes...the fact that he was really
rich...it was all too much for a simple smalltown dog-groomer like me
to process.

"So right
now we're headed up to the helipad," he said, "I've got something to
show you. But first...how about a smoke break?"

A smoke
break? How dreamy! He paused when we reached the next landing and set
me gently on my feet before producing a lighter and a small,
hand-rolled cigarette, which he carefully lit and handed over to me. I
wasn't a smoker and didn't feel much like starting, but how could I
refuse? He was very goodlooking. I took a couple puffs. The smoke was
harsh, but strangely sweet. I began to feel lightheaded almost
immediately. I offered the cigarette to Rick, but he shook his head and
waved it away.

"Wait..."
I sputtered, my vision beginning to swim, "What did you give me? What
is this?"

"How
should I know?" Rick shrugged, "I found it in Gomez's footlocker. I
guess I assumed it was grass or something. Is that a problem? I figured
it'd be OK seeing as you're such a strong, adventurous woman who
doesn't play by society's patriarchal rules."

I nodded
absentmindedly, gazing intently at the creases of my palm. Rick
shrugged and took out his phone. He turned away and began speaking in a
low murmur. I paced the landing, clenching and unclenching my
teeth. Sweat streamed down my face. I began to feel a rushing sensation
behind my eyes. A high-pitched buzzing filled the air.

After what
seemed like hours, Rick hung up the phone and spoke, but I could
scarcely understand what he was saying. His voice sounded distant, and
it echoed as if I were hearing him through a long, underground tunnel.

Great
news: Gomez says it was only PCP. It should wear off within the next
several hours."

"What is
this a painting of?" I asked, pointing at a blank spot on the wall.

"Painting?
" Rick looked up, confused. "What are you talking about?"

"JESUS GOD
HOW MANY HEADS CAN A SNAKE HAVE." I shrieked, kicking and stomping at
the empty floor around me.

"Whoa
whoa! Be cool, daddy-o, be cool!" Rick placed his meaty man-hands on my
shoulders and looked deep into my eyes, "You're upset, I get it.
Totally understandable. Nobody likes being dosed with dangerous
psychotropic substances against their will. But look: we really,
really have to get going here. I mean, I have a whole
bestiality/helicopter lovemaking thing planned for us today."

"You
should see your face. Hahahahaha!" I cried, rolling on the floor, "You
really need...to see...your own face...right now!"

"Alright
woman," Rick growled, "You want a man who takes control? Well OK: I'm
taking control!" He grabbed me by the arm and began dragging me up the
stairs like a guy dragging a live ragdoll up some stairs.

It felt
like my shoulder was about to be torn from its socket, but I decided to
sit back and enjoy the ride. I was still feeling a little sick from the
drugs, and sometimes being drugged by a really rich guy and hauled
around like a worthless sack of human sexgarbage is just what
the doctor ordered.

After
climbing for what seemed like hours, we finally reached the helipad. We
climbed in the chopper, and were airborne in moments. Everything was
going exactly according to plan. We were alone and several thousand
feet above sea level. I finally had self-made billionaire
business mogul Rick Mexico exactly were I wanted him.

Reaching
under the seat, I felt around until my hands brushed cold steel. The
pistol. Gomez had come through after all. I'd have to buy that Cuban
bastard a beer when this was all over. Presuming I was still alive.

"Alright,
this is it. Be cool. It's now or never." I muttered in an attempt to
psyche myself up. "You're a rogue government double-agent who doesn't
play by the rules. Fear is both literally and figuratively your middle
name."

The
psych-up worked. It was go-time. I was across the cockpit with the
pistol pressed to his temple before Rick even knew what was happening.

"FREEZE
SUCKER AND DON'T MOVE AN INCH!" Shouting was a tactic they had taught
us at agent academy. The purpose of it was to instill fear. I
continued: "Richard R. Mexico, by the power vested in me by the US
Bureau of The Unites States, I find you guilty-as-charged for
the crime of illegally importing goods into the United States with an
expired permit! Your sentence: Death."

But Rick
was craftier than I had expected. Before I could even react, he slowly
unbuckled his belt, pressed the "self-destruct" button, climbed over
the seat into the back of the chopper, threw open the cargo door, and
jumped out after strapping the one-and-only parachute to his back.

There was
little question what I needed to do next. I was a wrongfully-accused
child murderer and Rick Mexico was my ticket to freedom. I wouldn't let
him escape again. Not on my watch.